Faint
by Ethereal Dreams
Summary: The stars would guide his way… because for the first time, he felt a thirst for bitter revenge. Harry Potter's thoughts after the war. Alternate Ending. One Shot.


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**In His Embrace  
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A chill, vicious gust of wind lashed across the town of Jeme. The moon graced the town with its hostile beauty, its gaze evoking sharp fear and trepidation in its victims. But a certain young man was laying his freshly bandaged back against the rough bark of the imposing pine tree, quite oblivious to the moon's threat. The fierce breath of salty air was playfully frolicking with the boy's dark, sodden long hair.

He was very much a youngster, looking no older than twenty with eyes a spine-tingling cerulean that stared glacially at the constellations of stars that blazed from the black sky. The boy was clad in a flimsy, moth eaten cloak with a time-worn pair of sneakers he had been gifted roughly three years ago.

Harry Potter could still remember the horror, the panic that spread through the Hogwarts faster than wildfire. Its habitants were screaming, pointing at the viperous flames that were greedily licking the night sky. A loyal friend had advised him to hasten away before the onyx-cloaked creatures hunt him out. Before the angry flames even got the chance to convey their hostility to strangers, almost all the students of Hogwarts lay lifeless on the blood-stained floor, waiting for their spiritless bodies to be burnt to nothing by the fire.

His friends, his family, his beloveds were rendered into crisp ashes before he could wisp out his exhausted wand. All reason fled from him as he quickly scampered away on a frantic hippogriff.

For the first time in many, _many_ ears, Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived felt utterly helpless. Even during the adventuresome and audacious years at Hogwarts had he been able to ignore his inner voice of reason and tranquillity and find solace in his bravery and achievements. Where had all his courage fled when the final, heart-quenching moment of life and death arrived?

Harry could lightly grasp the eerie song of the cicadas and faltered a smile. They mirrored much of the emotions uncurling in his frozen heart. He absent-mindedly fingered the bandages dressed over his chest and the sharp scent of dry, crushed herbs stabbed his nostrils, making them slightly recoil and flare.

The wizarding world had come to scorn at him, not bothering to go through the trouble of hiding their grievance and venom that had piled on the dreaded night everything sooted to grey ashes. Harry Potter, their saviour, their hero, was supposed to be leading them into light, away from the Dark Lord, away from their grieves not flee like some coward who was too a fool to face his fate.

Many towns and villages were averse for the idea of allowing him to taint their homes and that resulted in meaningless street fights and assassination attempts. Harry Potter was only useful once upon a time, long long ago. Now he was nothing but a burden that needn't to be carried any further.

He wondered what his two most endeared friends thought of him now, up in Heaven where they could see and witness everything. Would they even consider him a loyal friend anymore? He doubted it. He missed their joyful company and cheerful laughter and constant bickering. He vaguely wondered if they would be wed to one another by now had they still been of life. His eyes grew cold; they did not deserve their deaths. He did.

_Just pine away and die…_Seemed fit after what _he_ had done. It would be so easy to give in to the temptation, to end this pain in one swift enchantment. To sink into oblivion where there would be no anguish, no guilt for his already tormented soul. His mind was a whirlpool of questions. With a wry smile, he shook his head, as if clearing all doubts from his head.

The stars would guide his way… because for the first time, he felt a thirst for bitter revenge.

This thirst was not forged from the Prophecy; it was from the gut-stirring emotions that welled within him on that fateful night when he had lost his most precious treasures. He felt a need to draw blood, the blood for the onyx-cloaked creatures that stole the lives of so many friends and families…

He would avenge their deaths.

Waves of exhaustion washed over him. Sleep, a welcome ghost was already numbing his mind for a few blessed hours.

Indeed, he would not allow their deaths be in vain.

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**Author: Ethereal Dreams**

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